


The Cup is as Mighty as the Pen

by monocots



Category: Coffee Talk (Video Game)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Minor Original Character(s), No Plot/Plotless, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29062647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monocots/pseuds/monocots
Summary: In every iteration of that time, she was always there; the shock of green hair, the glint in her eyes, the wicked wit that only a writer could possess. Freya was practically destined to be a regular, and you just rolled with her as she was. Slowly, you got to know her: her writing, her habits, her hopes, and her worries, one triple-shot espresso at a time.Five snippets of you, the barista, dealing with Freya before the main events of the game.(Spoilers for the game’s true ending.)
Relationships: Barista & Freya (Coffee Talk)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	The Cup is as Mighty as the Pen

**Author's Note:**

> i managed to post this in time for coffee talk’s first anniversary, and freya’s birthday, thankfully. happy birthday, freya!
> 
> i played coffee talk for the first time in november and it charmed the pants off me. freya is my favorite in the cast 一 i love her wit, her expressiveness, even her occasional impropriety. plus as someone who also writes fiction, she’s hella relatable! so i wanted to write snippets of her hanging out at the coffee shop, prior to the events of the game, as a little tribute. be warned: my headcanons on freya’s background are here.

**1**

In every iteration of this week that you replayed, she always arrived, at some night or other. Some introductions were more awkward, others more unassuming, and still others more boisterous. You knew it was coming every time, from the flash of short green hair approaching your workspace on the fated day, but how it went always had a little variation to it.

But in all versions, two things were kept constant: one, her first order was always a triple shot espresso, and two, she always looked at you with a wicked glint in her eyes.

“Um, can I help you with something?”

She was watching you from behind her laptop. She was going to speak up, you already knew, but the look she gave you 一 partially curious, partially amused 一 was nevertheless fascinating, and funny in hindsight.

“Oh, sorry about that, it’s rude to stare. I was just wondering…”

“Wondering what?”

“How you opened up this coffee shop. It’s a pretty unconventional business idea, I mean, running your business this late.”

“It  _ is _ unconventional,” you mused, “but there’s always someone who needs coffee and some company at this hour. Like you, for example.”

A laugh from her. “Well, you’re right about that! But how’d you start it? Did you quit your boring 9 to 5 job to pursue your dreams or something?”

“Um… not exactly.”

“Okay, so not that. Ah! I know 一” the glint in her eyes grew sharper 一 “maybe some old wizard barista left you this coffee shop as a parting gift before he left to roam the earth, and now you’re tasked with continuing his legacy.”

“Not even close.”

“Aw, man.” The woman giggled. “So, what’s your story then?”

You scratched at your cheek, trying to think of a satisfying enough answer. Where do you even begin? You’ve rewritten your own story so many times and lived out so many lives, that trying to tell it in a condensed, conversational way was nearly impossible. No matter how many times you replayed this day, you could never think of a good answer, so you just stood there thinking and let the espresso machine hum in the background.

“Whatever story you have, it must be a doozy,” she said. “I mean, you look like you’re thinking long and hard about your life choices.”

Life choices indeed. That’s one way to put it, you thought to yourself. 

You cleared your throat and quickly changed the subject. “What about you? What brings you here? I mean, you seem to be working when everyone else has stopped working and gone to bed.”

“I’m a writer and a night owl,” she said, taking a sip of her espresso. “I work best at this hour. I’ve tried working a typical day job at a cubicle, and nope. Couldn’t stand the stuffy atmosphere. Not for me.”

“I mean, very few traditional workplaces would let you get away with  _ that _ hair, unless it were natural.”

“Hey!”

“Relax, I didn’t say it was a bad hairdo.” In fact, you liked how unique it was, how the electric green popped against the warm tones of the coffee shop. “Anyway, what do you do?”

“I write for  _ The Evening Whispers _ ,” she said, giving you a little grin.

“Oh, fascinating! A journalist. What exactly do you cover?”

“Why don’t you take a guess?” Her grin grew even wider. eyes crinkling.

“Hmm, let me see…” Of course, you knew the answer already, but you liked seeing your favorite customer glow when she told you her job. “Entertainment? You cover all the latest celebrity gossip?”

She furrowed her brows and wrinkled her nose. “God, no. That just seems like a lot of unnecessary drama to me. Besides, I’m terrible at remembering actors’ names.” She sat up and smiled, and there it was 一 that glow of pride. “I write for the short stories section, mainly, and occasionally do features on quirky stories around town.”

“A short story writer! Now that’s a talent. It’s an honor to have a fiction writer at the coffee shop, Miss…”

“Freya.”

You introduced yourself in turn. “You’re here to write a short story at this hour?”

“Yup! And get some inspiration. I get stuck when I’m at home, so coming to a coffee shop and watching all the people around me helps.”

“Tough luck for you, then, since you’re the only customer around.”

Freya shrugged. “You’re here. That’s already one more person that at my apartment. And I can do a little bit of people-watching from the windows here, too.”

You smiled. “Well, if you’re going to write and people-watch, I better not disturb you, then. I don’t have much of a story to tell, so I can’t be your inspiration tonight…”

“Bullshit.”

“Um, excuse me?” Her emphatic tone caught you off-guard.

Again, there was that twinkle in Freya’s eyes. “Everyone has a story to tell. It might not be everyone’s cup of tea, like those celebrity gossip stories. But everyone has something interesting about them 一 even you, my humble barista.”

You chuckled at her words. She was right, though she didn’t really know the full extent of it yet.

“And that’s your job, huh? To tease out the stories that everyday people have.”

“That’s right.” Freya look a last sip of her espresso. “Is it all right if I get another drink, please? I’ll need it to keep working.”

* * *

**2**

Gala came in for his usual drink, and soon you found yourself engaged in an interesting conversation about the efficacy of the available Fury sedatives on the market. Gala pointed out that most of them were, in fact, not very effective, and research on better sedatives often did not get the financial support needed to keep running.

Freya did not join your conversation immediately, but waited to order another drink.

“Another espresso?”

“Nah, I need a drink to inspire me for my current story. I need something bitter, but rich and a little… sad, if that makes sense. Something that reminds me of  _ heartbreak _ .”

“What’s the matter, did the love of your life break your heart?”

Freya scoffed. “Nah, I like to think I’m pretty tough against that kind of thing. It’s just for the story.”

“I know just the thing.”

You busied yourself over at the shelf. You scooped up a good handful of chocolate powder, then chopped up some ginger and cinnamon, your hands working almost automatically from practice as you did. As all the ingredients combined like magic into one little cup, the right aroma of the Bitter Heart hit your senses. You could sense the concoction was perfect right then and there: the rich earthy base of the chocolate, plus the sharper notes of your chosen spices.

Freya thought so, too, as she took her first sip.

“Mmm, this is perfect! Bitter and just a little bit sharp.” She laughed. “It’s like I’m  _ tasting _ a breakup!”

“I aim to please,” was all you said, giving her a satisfied smile.

Gala watched the whole scene with piqued interest, but said nothing. You glanced at him, then at Freya.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, putting down her drink. “Was I interrupting you?”

“No, not at all. Seeing our barista here get to work is always a pleasure to watch.” 

“Yeah, that’s some talent over here!” She laughed again, raising her cup. “Anyway, you said you work at a hospital?”

“Yes, but not as a doctor. I work more of an admin job. But as a werewolf in the medical industry, I do know a lot about Fury sedatives.”

“Fascinating!” Freya was watching him now, wide-eyed, resting her chin on her hands. “I bet you hear a lot of interesting patient stories, maybe even the stuff of a good story.”

Gala shook his head. “It’s pretty mundane, for the most part. And even if I did, that’s confidential information that I can’t just share.”

You glared at Freya and tilted your head. Sure, you’d seen this scene play out a few times before, both with Gala and with other customers, but you had to express your disapproval every time.

“Don’t look at me like that! Okay, okay, I’ll stop being nosy.” She took another sip from her cup of Bitter Heart. “Besides, a drink like this will give me enough inspiration for several stories.”

You gave her another satisfied grin.

Gala glanced down at the drink, then up at Freya. “You’re a professional writer?”

“She writes short stories for  _ The Evening Whispers, _ ” you cut in.

Freya glared at you. “Hey, don’t brag for me!”

You just shrugged and smiled.

She turned back to Gala. “The barista’s right, but I’m not a bestselling seasoned veteran or anything. I’m still pretty rough around the edges.”

“Still, not many people get to write for a living,” you pointed out. “For some folks, it’s just a pipe dream.”

“Yeah, I know.” She sighed, then glanced at her laptop for the briefest of moments. She winced visibly, and that told both you and Gala that the writing was not going well. “It’s just, it’s a lot of pressure to write this many stories on a regular basis…”

“If I may ask, how long have you been writing for the  _ Whispers _ ?” Gala cut in.

“Less than a month.”

“That’s not a lot of time, even for a human, isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t.” Freya let out another sigh. “I can take it slow for now since I’m new-ish, maybe about two or three stories a week. But the chief said that she expects to pick up the pace until I can write something new nearly every day.”

You winced. “Two to three stories a week already sounds like a lot.”

“Exactly!” Freya mirrored your wince. “And it’s hard getting inspired for each and every one. Coming here helps, at least, but it’s not going to slow down my deadlines.”

“You have one story, at least,” you pointed out, your eyes moving from Freya’s laptop to the Bitter Heart. 

“Yeah, for this week. And then what happens after that? I’m not a story machine.”

“Maybe you should just take it one day at at time, Miss Freya. Write this story now, worry about the next one later. It won’t make your deadlines go away, sure, but at least you won’t be worrying about your deadlines any earlier than you have to. If I stressed out about my customers before they came in, then I wouldn’t survive running this coffee shop. I’d go mad!”

(You  _ used _ to stress out about customers before they came in, but enough replayed days gave you enough practice 一 and enough prediction 一 to manage everyone without a second thought.)

Gala nodded along. “If I may,” he said, “I don’t know anything about writing stories. But it’s good to manage your work stress, and take things one day at a time.” 

Freya pursed her lip, then tapped at her chin with her finger. She glanced at Gala. “Oh yeah, you probably know best 一 stress-related diseases can’t be fun.”

Gala simply shook his head.

Freya took another sip of the Bitter Heart, and let out a happy sigh at the aroma. “Yeah, I guess you’re both right. No use freaking out about my next story while this one is still unfinished.” She turned back to her laptop, and that trademark glint in her eyes returned. “Now if you excuse me, this drink is filling me with so many ideas. I think I know where to take  _ this  _ story. Ooh, I even have a proper ending in mind!”

With that, she gathered her things and moved to the table by the corner, the table that would soon become her usual spot. You smiled as you watched her set up and resume her writing. You remembered seeing the story she had written on this night, a few days afterward: a melancholy tale of breakup between a struggling mermaid and her elven lover, as they stood on a stone bridge underneath the stars. It was one of your personal favorites from Freya, and you felt a little smug knowing that you had a hand in it.

* * *

**3**

“I may be a barista, but that doesn’t mean I know the exact chemistry of what I brew. I’m afraid I won’t be of much help to you.”

The elven college student in front of you sighed, and took a long sip of her cappuccino. The drink worked its magic, as you knew it would; she put down her pen, and faced you properly. 

“I don’t even  _ like  _ chemistry, or any of this hard science stuff in the first place.” Her voice was laced with defeat. “All this studying is wasted on me, instead of, y’know, someone who actually wants to become a doctor.”

You listened intently as the student unloaded her problems: her parents, both doctors, were pressuring her into joining the family practice 一 something that she had no interest in of her own. If she had her own choice, she’d work in interior design; she wanted to make spaces that were beautiful and reflected the owner’s personality, but were also inviting and accessible. “Like this coffee shop,” she said, gesturing towards the brick wall interior and the painted wooden shelves along it. “It’s warm and friendly, especially for a place that’s open only on midnight. But it’s also inclusive. Not many places have chairs that even orcs and Atlanteans can sit comfortably in.”

“Thanks, I chose everything myself. I can’t say it was easy, though.” In fact, it had taken a lot of time, plus trial and error, to get the shop’s ambience right.

The student continued talking, and you listened with awe as she discussed her interest in interior design, and how physical spaces took on their own meaning to bring people together or help them be themselves. She just wanted her parents to understand that, she explained. You nodded along, sympathizing with her passion; after all, you had opened this very coffee shop with similar intentions. When it was finally time for her to leave, you wished her the best of luck as you poured the remnants of her cappuccino into a to-go cup 一 and you did mean it.

As the student left the coffee shop, you spotted Freya out of the corner of your eye, her gaze following her out as well. A few moments later, she appeared in the seat in front of you, eyebrows creased in sympathetic worry.

“Wow, that’s a tough place to be in.”

You nodded. “It’s a lot of pressure on her shoulders.” A pause. “You like to eavesdrop a lot, don’t you?”

Freya laughed. “Hey, at least I didn’t meddle or anything!”

“I can’t say I’m surprised that you like to eavesdrop, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“It just… seems like a writerly thing to do. Listen to other people’s stories, so that you can use them as inspiration for your own.”

“Hah! I definitely like to, hmm, observe people. A college professor of mine actually told us to eavesdrop on people as a writing tip! Besides,” Freya went on, her gaze becoming wistful, “the story kind of reminds me of myself in college.”

You glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

“Can I get a drink first before telling this story? A cappuccino, just like that student.”

You set to work at the espresso machine, pondering on the elven student’s experiences 一 and on Freya’s, and on countless other Coffee Talk patrons who had come with the same story. It was a universal one, but each version you heard had slight variations and different endings. Freya’s had a happy ending, you knew; the elven student’s, you never found out the outcome of. There were enough variations that each retelling filled you with tension, even the ones whose endings you knew. Which version would you hear this time?

When the cappuccino finished brewing, you poured the latte art into the shape of a four-leaf clover. A little signal of luck to every student out there, past and present, you thought.

Freya smiled at the latte art as you handed the cup over. “Ooh, a lucky omen!” 

She took a slow sip, savoring the milk and coffee; as she finished, her eyes shone and grew wide. A memory seemed to flash before her. “Wow. If the cappuccinos at my college cafe had been this good, I might have studied harder and gotten better grades!”

The two of you chuckled.

“I aim to please,” you said with a grin.

“Anyway,” Freya continued, “me in college. My parents weren’t really sold on the whole writer thing. They were afraid that I wouldn’t make a lot of money out of it, and I’d end up a starving artist. It didn’t help that my little brother was an honor student and a science geek, and my parents thought I should be a little more like  _ him _ .”

You winced at her story. “Ah, the sibling comparisons. Those are never fun.”

“Nope, never.” She took another sip of her cappuccino. “So I was pretty surprised when my parents let me major in journalism in college. I thought they were going to pressure me out of it, but they just… let me.”

“Oh, how’d you convince them?”

“I don’t know, really. Before I settled on a major, they were selling me hard on all sorts of majors. Computer science, like what my brother wanted. Or business. Or law. But I pretty rebellious, so I declared journalism as my major without telling them. I went home expecting my parents to chew me out or shout at me, but… they didn’t. They just shrugged and said, ‘Well, it’s your life. You have to take responsibility for it.’” 

“That’s very considerate of them. Then again, most human parents are pretty nice about letting their kids spread their wings.”

Freya let out a hearty laugh. “That’s true, and thank God for that! My parents have been supportive ever since. And I’m in a pretty good place now, at least. Can’t imagine myself anywhere else.”

You smiled along with Freya’s story. “I have to agree with that. For all the stress you have over writing, you must really love it to stick with it.”

“Exactly! I’m stressed because I care about it so much. It’s a good kind of stress, in moderation.”

“In moderation, like the espressos you’re always ordering.”

“Hey, I ordered something different today!”

You gave Freya a grin; she’d keep ordering those espressos, no matter what. You liked to think, too, that she’d be a journalist and writer, no matter what; in all the times that Freya stopped by the coffee shop, in every version of her story, she was always a writer. Maybe it was one of those universal constants. She was always happy with her career path, too. Maybe she had luck on her side.

* * *

**4**

Some of your customers were difficult to read. They stopped by only to hang out and have a drink, and their faces remained blank the whole time. You didn’t mind this too much. It was what it was, since not everyone drops by for a conversation. Most of the time, though, you could sense a tinge of pleasure and relief when they took a sip of one of your brews. 

Freya, on the other hand, was an open book. Even if you didn’t know the details of her story from days replayed, you could still tell what she was going through from a single glance at her expression.

Today, the worry was plain on her face. Her brows became increasingly furrowed as she stared at her phone, and you could see the hand holding her phone trembling ever so slightly. She hadn’t placed an order yet, and she probably hadn’t even realized it.

“Freya, what’s the matter?”

She looked up at you, wide-eyed and fearful, like a wild animal caught in a trap. “My inbox is the matter.”

“Your boss sending you work this late?”

“No, it’s not that, thank God.” She let out a long, dramatic sigh. “It’s… reader mail.”

Even when you knew it was coming, you couldn’t help but let out a guffaw. “Reader mail! You mean, someone read your work and wrote to the  _ Whispers _ ?”

“YES!” 

Freya paused; that “yes” had come out a little more emphatically than she had intended.

“Sorry about that. This is my first time getting reader mail.” She glanced down at her phone, then at you, then at her phone again. “What if they didn’t like my story and they’re writing to complain?”

“Well, what does the subject line say?”

“It’s just the title of the story. ‘An Unexpected Moment.’ Not very helpful at all.”

“The breakup on a bridge one?”

“Yeah, that one.” Freya glanced back up at you; her mouth had now curled into a slight pout. “What if they wrote to criticize it? Maybe they’re pointing out that I should write stories that are less like that one? I mean, I thought the idea was a little half-baked at first, but I didn’t think it was  _ that  _ bad. Unless I was wrong…” She spoke so rapidly that you could barely grasp at what she was saying.

“Whoa, slow down there!”

Freya stopped, but her worried look remained.

“Let me make you a drink first, before you tell me about your reader mail.”

“Oh, perfect. I’ll need an espresso to deal with this.”

You simply shook your head, and poured some milk into a jar to heat. No espresso for Freya tonight, you knew; she needed something to calm her nerves. (You tried making an espresso on this day once, with disastrous results.)

When you handed her a cup of honey milk, she simply glared at you. “Um, what the hell is this? This doesn’t even have coffee in it.”

“Just drink it, okay? You’ll need it for your nerves if you want to open that reader mail.”

“But my espresso!”

“Trust me, Freya.”

“Fine.”

She took a long sip of her honey milk, eyes squeezed shut. You could see her visibly relax as she sipped; her shoulders began to sag, and her eyes were closed a little less tightly. At last, she finished her sip and opened her eyes; the milk was half gone. Her voice, too, was more even as she spoke.

“Okay. Wow. Almost went into a frenzy there.”

You couldn’t help your little smile. Good to see her feeling better, you thought.

“Okay, wow, okay. I’m going to do this. I know what I’m going to do 一 if it’s criticism, I’m going to learn from it, if it’s worth something. And if it’s just hate, I’m going to dump the email in my trash folder.”

You nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Freya nodded back, then brought her phone close to her face again. She let in a deep inhale 一 then silence. Slowly, her face broke out into a grin, one that only got bigger and bigger as her eyes scanned her phone. At last, she put the phone down, and let out a hearty laugh that filled the entire coffee shop.

“Ah, I was so worried for nothing!”

“What did they say?”

Freya handed her phone over to you, eyes shining.

_ Hi Ms. Fatima, _

_ I just read your short story “An Unexpected Moment” and it was so beautiful that I cried after reading it. I went through a breakup last month, and reading your story helped me process my feelings. Even though it was short, it captured exactly what I was going through. Thank you for writing it, and I hope I read more of your work in The Evening Whispers soon! _

You allowed yourself to break out into a grin yourself as you handed your phone back. “That’s incredible,” you told her. “You wrote something that touched someone’s heart.”

“I know, right?! Like, wow, I did that!” Freya broke out into laughter again. “I can’t believe I did that! Though now that I think about it… you helped with that, too.”

“You wrote the story here, didn’t you?”

“Yes! Not only that, but I took inspiration from your drink. The one I said tasted like a breakup. It helped me get through that story, so thank you for that.”

“Is that so?” You couldn’t help the pride that filled you. “It was my pleasure, then.”

* * *

**5**

Freya came by nearly every night, ready for a long session of writing; she would assume her seat in the corner, pull out her sticker-adorned laptop from her bag, and type away. Yet there was still the rare day when she came by without a laptop, or notebook, or anything resembling writing materials; even if you saw these days coming, the sight of Freya with just herself was enough to surprise you.

“You’re not writing today?” you asked her, eyeing the smaller bag that contained her wallet.

“Nope!” she declared with a laugh. “I felt extra inspired these last few days, and wrote enough to cover for the _ Whispers _ for now. I can afford to take some time off!”

“That’s great! So what brings you here?”

Freya shot you a look. “Hey, I have a life outside of writing, you know!”

“And why spend it here? Why not go to bed early, or enjoy the moonlight?”

“Hah, what moonlight?” She jerked her head towards one of the windows. “It’s cloudy today, and besides, it’s a new moon. And, well…”

You gave Freya a smug look.

“I like it here, even when I’m not writing. It’s cozy, the drinks are warm and delicious, and 一” she paused for a full grin 一 “it has the most wonderful barista for chit-chat.”

You flashed Freya a smile 一 a genuine smile, not the customer-service smile you were trained to have. If you were honest with yourself, sometimes you returned to this day just to hear her tell you this.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i’m active on [twitter](https://twitter.com/monocots_), where i post my fic updates. i mostly write for kazetsuyo/run with the wind, plus i’m slowly getting into haikyuu, so my tweets are largely about those. but i am happy to talk about coffee talk anyway!


End file.
